


If I Close My Eyes (Do I have To Open Them Again?)

by MadSkillz1231



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I'm just making this up, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, might change the tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2019-11-15 13:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18074567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadSkillz1231/pseuds/MadSkillz1231
Summary: A very depressed, suicidal Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 6th year. Making it up as I go along, and it's a fanfic, anything can happen, may not necessarily follow canon. Any problems, I don't want to hear them. Enjoy. Irregular updates expected.





	1. I can't keep this up anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Work coming from a depressed teenage Harry Potter fan, don't judge. If you do, I don't really care, though. Also, first fic, so cut me some slack.

Harry glared at the mirror in passing. He hated looking at himself. At the person that murdered his parents, Cedric, Sirius. He hated himself. He was a waste of space, of air. He was useless. What did he live for? He hated how everyone supported him one second, then turned against him the next. He hated how Ron was jealous of how famous he was for getting his parents killed. After all, Voldemort had come to kill him, Harry. He hated how Hermione bossed him around all the time, as if she was his superior. But most importantly, he hated that he was alive.

Everyday was the same for Harry. Wake up, smile, pretend everything was okay, shower, cut himself in the bathroom, skip breakfast, go to class and get tormented, skip lunch, go to class again and finally go to the kitchens for dinner before cutting once more and going to sleep. His grades were dropping, he knew it, and so did the teachers. He hated the sneers from Snape, the disappointed looks from McGonagall. He hated the way that all of a sudden, Dumbledore wanted his help, as if he hadn't ignored him for a whole year prior.

He hated how he had to return to his relatives every Summer, to get abused. Beaten, starved, locked away for two months while his friends sat around and enjoyed themselves for his safety.

Harry rushed off to classes, completely bypassing breakfast. He showed up five minutes late to Transfiguration. McGonagall stared at him over the top of her glasses as he walked in and sighed. Seems she had figured out that berating him at every corner wasn't working. He slid into a seat towards the back next to Neville, the only person that didn't do anything against him, or try to control him.

The itch under his skin had progressed in the last five minutes, wanting to be released. He dug his fingernails into his arm, trying to satisfy his need discretely. Neville glanced at him sideways at the small hiss of relief that fled through his lips, but didn't press the topic.

Finally, the long class was over, allowing Harry to escape to the bathroom for a much needed release. He got out his knife from Sirius and fingered it slowly. He steadily drew a line horizontally across his arm, watching as the blood oozed out in droplets, dripping onto the white tiles of the bathroom. He smiled grimly at the numbness that washed over him, consuming all of his mental pain. The physical pain was much easier to deal with, even if it was only temporary. Checking the time, he realised he was so caught up in the multiple red lines now adorning his arm that he was late to potions with Snape. Oh well, it wasn't as if he cared if he failed classes. To Harry, they were a waste of time, he wasn't planning on living that much longer, anyway. Sighing, he conjured some pristine white bandages to wrap around his bleeding arm, before doing up his shirt and putting on his robe.

That night, as he lay awake in his four poster bed, Harry thought about committing suicide. It wasn't the first time, no, Harry had much thought about it over the years, but never in this much depth. He fantasized falling over the astronomy tower. Bleeding out of his arms until there was no more crimson left to come. Tying a noose until he turned blue and failed to draw breath at all. Maybe even an Avada Kedavra for a nice painless death, to end his suffering once and for all. He drifted off to sleep with these thoughts rushing through his head. At peace for once.


	2. I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles are song lyrics  
> Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or any of the songs used for the chapter titles.

Disappointment. That was the feeling Harry experienced when he woke up. Disappointment that he was still there. Disappointment that he was still alive. That was the only feeling Harry ever experienced other than the mind-numbing emptiness that made up his life. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

He pulled out a razor blade, staring at it contemplatively as he twirled it in his hands. One well placed slit was all it would take. Just one...

He was pulled from his thoughts by a loud snore from Ron, as he rolled over on the bed beside him. Fortunately, Ron settled down quickly, allowing Harry to continue his musings in peace. Well, at least for another thirty eight minutes before everyone got up. Pulling his curtains shut once again, Harry sighed. He wanted to disappear forever, to cease to exist. He crept out of the bed after a couple more minutes in silence, headed straight for the bathroom of the dormitory. It was the most convenient place to slit his body open with the razor still clutched in his fists. 

After a handful of sharp slices along his torso, Harry was starting to feel better. Or at least, more numb. He continued his self-destructive behaviour for a little longer, enjoying the calm and emptiness that dominated his wild thoughts. Feeling immensely better, Harry ventured out of the bathroom. Getting ready for the day, he left, approaching his favourite place; the Astronomy Tower. 

Feeling the wind lightly hitting his face as he climbed up, he bitterly smiled. Freedom was so close, and he treasured the moment. He knew now wasn't the time, as tempted as he was. It just didn't feel right. He pulled himself up onto the rail and sat, admiring the view of the grounds. Lush green grass, tall healthy trees scattered across it. The sun slowly rising from the mountains on the horizon, casting the Forbidden Forest in a warm orange glow. Harry enviously watched the animals that grazed around the grounds. A beautiful spotted doe and her calf were standing at the edge of the forest, and Harry felt a tear trail down his face as he thought that that's what his life could have been. 

It could have been happy, with his mother, father, godfather and friends to love him and cherish him. He could have woken up everyday with the warmth of the sun coming from inside him, and a blinding smile gracing his face. He could have had a home. But he doesn't. He never will.

 


End file.
